A Vigil I'll Keep
by Sepulchrave Groan
Summary: In which Rose is strong so that Martin doesn't have to be.


A Vigil I'll Keep

Martin blinked dazedly, and looked about. He was standing in the centre of a dark meadow stretching a good hundred paces all around him. From where he stood, it looked perfectly circular, almost unnaturally so, surrounded as it was by towering evergreens and broad-branched leafy foliage. Soft mauve heather and dry wildgrasses gently bending and swaying from a warm breeze tickled his legs and rolled like waves over the meadow, breaking upon the sturdy trunks of the trees that lined it. Above him shimmered the largest moon Martin had ever seen. It hung just out of paw's reach, casting a soft glow over the meadow. Not to be outdone, the stars behind it shivered and spun, almost seeming to dance merrily in place.

Martin frowned. _How did he get here? And, for that matter, where was "here" anyway?_ He closed his eyes and strained his mind, trying to remember the last thing he'd done before finding himself alone on the moor. Hazy visions swam distortedly into his memory, as though he were peering at them through a bowl of water. Gradually, and with much effort, they came into focus. Martin gasped. _He had been in the middle of the battle for Mossflower! He was supposed to be fighting for his life with that evil feline tyrant! But where were his friends? And where was Tsarmina? This wasn't right at all!_

Martin's heart began to thump so vigorously he was surprised he could still hear the rustling of wildgrass around him. He looked wildly about. Anybeast could be hiding unseen in the waist-high field, including whomever had no-doubt dragged him here! For he could not imagine a more likely reason he'd wound up in this lonely moor in the midst of battle. He reached to his belt and, with no small amount of relief, found that his sword still hung heavily from his waist, encased in its black sheath. Martin hurriedly yanked it free, took up a wide-legged battle stance, and squared his shoulders. Holding his glimmering blade aloft, he called out to the moor, his powerful voice dashing the whispering sound of the wind.

"My name is Martin the Warrior, Champion of Mossflower Wood! If there be anybeast hiding in the grass, show yourself to me now! If you're a friend, then I mean you no harm, but if you're a foe, stop cowering in the grass like a baby vole and test yourself against my metal!"

Only silence greeted him. The grass continued to sway, unbothered by the mouse warrior's challenge, and nobeast revealed themselves to him. Martin quickly spun around on his heel, surveying the land behind him, lest the plan was to ambush him from behind.

"Come out this instant!" Martin repeated. "I warn you, I'm in no mood for hide-and-seek. Show yourself now, and on my honour as a warrior, I swear not to harm you." Again, nothing. After two or three more attempts, Martin was forced to resign himself to the fact that, if there were any creatures watching him from amongst the sweeping heather and grass, they did not intend to make themselves known to him.

 _Right_. There was no use in him standing about shouting himself hoarse. He needed to get a move on and find his way back to the battle for Mossflower as quickly as he could; there was no telling how long he'd been gone for or how his friends had managed without him. He prayed to himself that nothing had befallen them in his absence. Shaking his head with frustration, he again struggled and failed to remember any details of what had happened to him in the moments before awakening in the field. He'd been hacking and thrusting his blade at Tsarmina as she'd backed away from his ferocious onslaught, terrified eyes desperately flicking from side to side as she looked for an escape. Martin could not conjure anything beyond that to his memory. Pushing that particular problem out of his mind for the time being, the warrior lowered his blade slightly so that it nestled in the grass that swayed in front of him. The moor and trees surrounding it looked identical all around him, with no signs of a path or any kind of thinning, so there was no way to tell in which direction he should go. He sighed to himself, and chose one at random. Moving as quickly as he could under the circumstances, Martin used his sword to push aside the grass, creating himself a path and ensuring there was nobeast concealed within it. Instinctively, he cast a quick glance behind him every few paces, just in case. Yet, the meadow remained peaceful as the grass rippled around him.

Some time later, Martin masaged his aching shoulders with a tired paw. The battle for Mossflower had worn him very weary, and pushing aside the dense brush with his long sword was becoming more tiring the further he went. _Surely he should have arrived at the treeline by now._ He stopped for a moment and looked back again at the field. It was only two hundred or so paces across, yet he'd been walking for what must have been ten minutes. _So why did it seem like he'd hardly made any progress? What a strange place he'd found himself in…_ The warrior rubbed at his tired eyes, unsure of what to make of his situation. He opened them again, and almost fell back in shock. He was standing at the edge of the dense forest! A dark, narrow path has sprung up at his feet and meandered away from him, twisting out of sight. _Great seasons, what in the world was happening? Something was terribly wrong._ Thoroughly bewildered now, Martin heaved his sword higher, though he was no longer sure it would help him much at this point, not if the world was going to make a habit of shifting between blinks.

It seemed like there was nothing left to do but step out onto the path. Martin took a breath. The path was very winding, yet, much to Martin's surprise, seemed to be well-manicured and free of debris. A soft carpet of moss lay upon the ground, feeling cool to his footpaws. With a raised eyebrow, he noted that tiny white mushrooms had be planted along the border of the trail; somebeast had obviously taken great care in forging it. The path was very dark, but enough moonlight trickled through the canopy of broad leaves and spiny needles intertwining far above Martin's head that he could make his way well enough, once his eyes had adjusted to the added shadow. The trees on either side of him seemed to clamour for space, their roots knuckles and knotted together. Martin wondered if he shouldn't try stepping off the path and attempt to slip through them, just in case the path was leading him into some sort of trap or ambush, but he realised it would only be the work of a moment to become so hopelessly lost within them that he might never find his way out again. Martin glanced behind him again and was hardly surprised at all the small patch of meadow he was able to see from within the forest had grown very far away, almost disappearing altogether around a corner, even though he could not recall having taken more than five or six steps. There was no point in questioning things like that anymore.

Martin hurried along the path, sheathing his sword as his shoulders grew too weary from its burden. For good measure, he kept a paw gripped firmly around the hilt, just below the red pommel stone which appeared a deep amaranth in the darkened woodland. The path twisted and turned continuously, so that Martin could not see further than a few footsteps in front of him. Once or twice, he felt sure that he had gone around in a circle, but decided to press along, not keen on giving up the progress, if any, that he'd made. He had wondered if he was dreaming somehow, for it was difficult to believe any this, the forest, the meadow, was real. However, a quick test of his sword's keen edge upon his paw soon reassured him he was far from dreaming. Sucking on the small cut he'd made, he continued onward, fighting to quiet the growing voice in his mind. _Where were his friends? What had happened to them? Had they all been slaughtered in his absence?_ He viciously stamped down such thoughts- they would do him no good at the moment. Yet in spite of himself, Martin broke into a trot, and then a run. He ran and ran, the sounds of his friends crying and screaming beginning to invade his mind, almost as though they were just around the next bend. _Gonff! Timballisto! Bella! Dinny! Oh why was this happening? Why was he so unable to protect the ones he loved?_ Martin ran faster, his chest heaving.

Their voices became louder. Cries of fear became tortured shrieks, and anguished sobs of grief.

"Martin! Help!" someone wailed in terror and pain. He didn't recognize the voice, but it didn't matter. "Martin, please help me!"

Martin began to panic. He ran faster, unsheathing his sword as he did.

"Hold on!" he cried. "Please hold on! I'm coming!"

 _Surely they were just around this corner! Or this one! Or this one!_ Martin ran and ran, but it did no good. His friends' tormented voices surrounded him. He whipped his head wildly, desperately looking for a glimpse of someone. Anyone! The trees had closed in front and behind him, blocking his path. They seemed to be creeping toward him, their branches, suddenly thorny, catching on his fur and cloak. He hacked at them wildly, desperate to free himself as his friends' screams overwhelmed him. Tree roots ensnared his footpaws and he fell face first to the knuckled ground. His sword clattered out of his paw and was swallowed by the earth. Martin cried out, struggling against the roots that curled vice-like about his body, threatening to swallow him as well. _His friends were all going to die. They were all going to die again and again. They were going to scream for his help forever and ever and he would never come for them._ Martin's vision blurred with burning tears as his strength began to leave him. Hundreds of voices filled the air and Martin could no longer separate their cries from each other.

"Martin!"

"Martin please!"

"Martin, where are you? Please save us!"

Martin was screaming now.

"I can't!" He sobbed. "I can't!" The roots began to pull him into the earth and darkness descended upon him. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

 _"You will find me in Noonvale,_

 _on the side of a hill."_

A high, clear voice rent the air, shattering the screams of his friends and the howling of the trees that gripped him. They crashed into silence as the voice continued to sing.

 _"When the summer is peaceful and high,_

 _There where streamlets meander the valley is still,_

 _'Neath the blue of a calm cloudless sky."_

The tree roots began to untangle themselves from Martin's legs and the branches snarled in his fur fell away.

 _"Look for me at dawn when the earth is asleep_

 _'Till each dewdrop is kissed by the day._

 _'Neath the rowan and alder a vigil I'll keep_

 _Every moment that you are away."_

Martin found himself lying face down on the soft mossy path lined with mushrooms once again. His sword had appeared, glinting and close at paw. Martin lay quaking, unable to rise, as sobbs continued to wrack his body. The voice was the sweetest that had ever put notes to words. It filled the forest around Martin's shivering form, overflowing with love and an unspeakable sadness.

 _"The earth gently turns as the seasons change slowly_

 _All the flowers and leaves born to wane._

 _Hear my song o'er the lea like the wind soft and lowly_

 _And come back to Noonvale again."_

The last notes faded away into silence. The forest was still save for Martin's quiet gasps as he, still unable to move, struggled to calm himself. Finally, he was able to raise his head and gaze down the short path that stretched before him. Just a few short paces from him the path ended in a small mossy clearing. A crackling campfire danced in the middle of it, casting shadow upon the singer, so all that could be seen of her was a dark silhouette. The singer's paw was outstretched toward Martin, reaching for him. Martin could not see her features clearly, but he already knew who it was.

"Oh Martin," breathed Rose. "How I've missed you."

Martin, still trembling, reached for his sword and used it to lever himself upright. Thrusting its point into the earth, he leaned on it like a cane. He limped slowly toward her and she backed away from the clearing entrance to give him room to enter.

Martin stepped into the clearing, feeling the warmth from the crackling fire warm his aching body. The clearing was surrounded by trees packed so densely that they appeared to be walls. Their branches arched above Martin's head, interwoven into a leafy domed roof. Across the fire, Martin could see another dark path leading away into the darkness. But none of that mattered to Martin. His terrified memories of the sinister forest and grappling tree root melted away as the firelight fell upon the face that Martin had dreamed of every night since the life had been wrenched from her body. Martin forgot how to breathe. The memory of the first time they'd met flooded back to him, when she'd helped him out of the escape tunnel from Marshank. The way her eyes reflected the moonlight had entranced him. He'd forgotten how to breathe then too.

"Rose," he murmured, still not daring to believe his eyes. "Is this real? I mean, are you really here?"

"Yes, I'm here," she replied gently, her voice like tinkling bells in the breeze. "I've been waiting so long to see you."

With that, she stepped forward and brushed his quaking paw with hers. Martin inhaled sharply as he felt her warm touch. He wanted to embrace her so tightly they'd never separate again, but found himself still rooted to the spot, his head spinning.

"Oh Martin," she whispered, too overcome with emotion to speak louder. She seemed to know he would need a moment to make sense of it all. "You've been so brave."

 _He couldn't believe she was here, standing in front of him like no time had passed at all._ Her soft hazel eyes were shining tenderly at him from behind the glimmering tears that clung to her long eyelashes and fell to her cheeks. Her fur was sleek and shiny, almost glowing the in the flickering light. She wore a traveling cloak of deep burgundy velvet, as though she had made a long journey to meet him. Her delicate paw was still enveloping his and the most beautiful smile played upon her lips. _And her small body struck the stone wall of Markshank, the stone wall that he'd helped build, and she crumpled limply to the dusty ground, and her body had gone cold and her eyes were wide and glassy and a dark stain of blood wreathed the earth around her head and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't wake her and it was all his fault and he should be the one lying dead not her and why had he let her come with him and he'd do anything to take her place..._

"Rose…" and then he fell into her arms, tears filling his eyes again. "Rose, I'm sorry I'm so sorry it's all my fault I should've told you to stay in Noonvale where it was safe if I had just been quicker…" He had sunk to his knees, burying his face into her midsection and letting the image of her lifeless body and empty stare torment him like he deserved. His shoulders heaved as, for the first time, he wept openly for her. Even in the days following her death, Martin had been unable to allow himself to freely cry for Rose, feeling in his heart that, having caused her death, he had no right to truly mourn her. He wanted her to scream and to cry, to say that she hated him and that she never wanted to see him again. He had expected her contempt, yearned for it, knowing that it was nothing less than he deserved.

"Oh Martin," Rose said sadly, her voice breaking as she knelt before him. Taking the corner of her velvet cloak, she gently dried his cheeks as he stared down at his paws which he'd clenched into fists with self-loathing. "There isn't anything to forgive you for. Please don't blame yourself. I would have followed you to the end of the world if it meant being by your side."

Softly, Rose stroked his still-damp cheeks, making them tingle. Martin's heart thumped. She was very close, close enough that he could see how the glimmering light made her eyes shimmer.

Rose smiled tearfully. "Besides, you know I'd have tanned your hide if you'd told me to stay Noonvale while you went off to fight Badrang without me. I chose to leave with you and go to war. That was the bravest thing I ever did, so don't you dare take credit for that," she giggled.

Martin shook his head. _She had to understand._ "I let my thirst for revenge and blood get the better of me, and you paid the price. I should have just died on the walls of Marshank like I was supposed to on the night we first met," he said ruefully. "You'd have lived a long happy life if I had just died in the storm and-"

"Yes," Rose interrupted, trying not to sound exasperated. "And Brome would've starved in the prison pit, and Pallum would have stayed Amballa's slave forever, and the rest of the slaves would have died under Badrang's whip." She clutched both his paws in her own urgently. "Don't you see how much of a hero you are?"

Martin's squeezed her paws gently. "But I failed the one who mattered most to me," he said.

"If I had lived, would you have given up the warrior's life for me?" Rose asked.

"Yes," Martin replied without hesitation. "I would have gladly hung up my sword and stayed in Noonvale with you forever."

"Then it was my fate to die in Marshank," Rose said bittersweetly. "I think I've always known that."

"What do you mean?" asked Martin, frowning at her.

"You were needed to travel south and liberate Mossflower," she replied. "They couldn't have done it without you, and you couldn't have done it with me."

"So Mossflower is free then?"

"Yes Martin," she said, ruffling his ears happily. "Thanks to you."

Finally Martin allowed a tiny smile to slip onto his face. _Mossflower was safe! His friends were free to laugh and live and grow old together, and he could pass on to Dark Forest and be with Rose, happy in the knowledge that they would live on. She had come to guide him into the afterlife._

"At first it was difficult to accept that I'd died. It took me ages to reach this place," she continued, gesturing to the domed clearing. "Felldoh had almost torn out his ears waiting for me."

Martin's body went cold with horror. "You mean the trees attacked you as well?" he asked, hating to imagine her as terrified as he had been only moments ago. Had she called for him?

"No," she said reassuringly. "But once I realised what this place meant I refused to move." She grinned, "You know me, stubborn as an old shrew wife."

Martin chuckled, thinking of Felldoh impatiently waiting for her.

"I think the forest only attacks you if you shouldn't be here, if it's not your time to die. It's almost like it rejects you," Rose was saying. "But I had to see you before you returned, and I knew my singing would guide you to me."

"I'd recognise your beautiful voice anywhere," Martin said in awe. He suddenly blinked with realisation. "Wait," he said, a sickening feeling overcoming him. "What do you mean before I return? I'm ready to pass on with you. I- I'm ready to die, Rose."

Rose looked deeply into his eyes, and Martin's breath caught in his chest, seeing the look of sorrow in their hazel depths.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice becoming quiet. "There will come a time when we will meet here again and pass through Dark Forest gates together, but I'm afraid that time is not now. Soon you will have to go back to Mossflower, and I back to where I belong- oh Martin, _please_ don't cry."

Martin's heart was breaking again. He pulled Rose close to him and pressed his forehead to hers, desperate to touch her, desperate to keep her.

"Rose," he begged piteously. "I'm ready to die, I am. Please don't leave me, not again! I can't bear it!"

Rose was weeping now too. "Martin" she said, her voice uneven. "Your destiny is so much greater than you know. There are so many amazing things you've yet to accomplish, so many creatures in need of your help. I wish there was a way you could understand."

Martin held her tighter. "Please don't send me away," he whispered.

"I swear to you that I will wait in this spot until you return to me," she said, trying to ignore the way his shoulders were shaking with anguish. "I won't move from here until you're back for real." Pleadingly, she said, "But Martin, promise me you'll find some happiness again. Promise me you'll _live_."

"How can I?" he said bitterly, his voice growing louder. "I don't _want_ a great destiny, not if it means losing you again. I don't care anymore! How can I go on living, knowing that you're here waiting for me?" He took her face in his paws. "Please don't ask me to go on without you," he said beseechingly. "I-I'm not strong enough to live without you."

Rose smiled then. It was the loveliest, most heartachingly sorrowful smile Martin had ever seen.

"My brave warrior," she breathed. "You've been so strong for such a long time, stronger than anyone I have known. It's not fair for me to ask more of you, not when I can be strong for the both of us."

Martin's eyes fluttered shut as he felt her warm, tender kiss upon his forehead.

"Martin," said a strange voice. _Who was that?_ "Timballisto, bring the lavender, I think he's waking up. Yes, that's right, hold it right under his nose, just like that."

A strong flowery scent invaded his nostrils, and Martin's eyes slowly opened. Gradually, his vision focused, and Martin was able to make out the wrinkled and kindly face of an old mouse smiling down at him. Behind her, another mouse was wringing his paws anxiously.

"Oh Martin," the younger mouse exclaimed, relief in his voice. "We were so afraid that you were bound for the gates of Dark Forest! Thank the seasons you're alive!"

Martin's mind felt so muddled, as though it had been filled with a soupy fog. It took him a long while to come to his senses. Who were these two mice standing at his bedside? Realisation struck him. Abbess Germaine! Timballisto, his dear friend! Weakly he smiled at them.

"It'll take more than a rampaging feral wildcat to send me to Dark Forest," he said wryly.

Timballisto roared with triumphant laughter and danced merrily around the bed as Martin watched, amused.

The sun was setting between the trees of Mossflower Wood as the victory celebration raged on. Martin settled into his bed, taking great care not to aggravate his many injuries, and listening to the lively sounds of his friends as they danced merrily around the campfires and gorged themselves on whatever delight they could find. Gonff sidled into the tent, carrying a jug of cool water.

"Thought y'might want a drink by yer bedside, Martin," he said, placing the jug so that Martin could reach it.

"Thank you, Gonff," Martin said gratefully. "I didn't even think about that."

"How you feeling anyway?" his friend asked, sitting heavily on a nearby chair. "Not too beat up, are you?"

Martin smiled. "Oh, I think I'll be sore for a few days to come. Good thing I have such a good friend in you- I'll be needing to be waited on, paw and foot for at least a week!"

Gonff chuckled and then, more soberly, asked, "Martin, while you were asleep for all those days, you made something of a habit of yellin' and callin' out. Something to do with roses. Not that you don't deserve your privacy, but do you remember what it was you were talking about?"

Martin frowned. _He'd been yelling about roses? What a strange thing! He couldn't imagine what he might've had to say about roses whilst deep in a injury-induced coma._

"I have no idea, Gonff!" he chuckled, utterly bewildered. "It's not even rose season right now, is it?"

Gonff shook his head. "You seemed pretty distressed, mate. You sure it was nothing? I don't mean to pry but you know you can tell me if you want to."

"Well you'd be distressed too if you'd had to fight your way back through the gates of Dark Forest!" Martin laughed. "I'd tell you if I knew, but honestly, I have no idea why I'd be going on about flowers in my sleep."

Gonff sighed and heaved himself up from his chair. "Well warrior mouse, the missus will be wonderin' where I've disappeared to. I'll have to go assuage her fears. Have a good sleep! I'll be around with your breakfast tray in the morning, _your Majesty._ " With a pompous flourish of his tail, Gonff left.

Martin eased himself into a more comfortable position and took a small sip from his water jug. He smiled broadly to himself. _How good it was to be alive and among friends! But feverish talking of roses? Surely he'd never hear the end of that from Gonff. What could Martin have meant by that?_ He chuckled quietly, perplexed, as sleep began to overwhelm him. _Maybe he'd remember one day, but after all, it didn't really matter. He was alive and, after all, what more could he wish for?_

Rose wiped her tears with the corner of her traveling cloak, and pulled it tighter around herself. The last traces of Martin had faded from the clearing, and she could no longer even smell him on the spot where he'd knelt. She watched the fire beginning to sputter and die. She lay down beside its embers. A fresh wave of grief washed over her as she settled in to wait for the day her warrior would return to her.


End file.
